


migraines+whump+five+family

by TUA (IAMS)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Exhaustion, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Sharing a Bed, siblings bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAMS/pseuds/TUA
Summary: Five is so tired.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 20
Kudos: 642
Collections: The Umbrella Academy





	migraines+whump+five+family

Five had been foolish to believe even for a second that because they had the suitcase, and because that meant they didn't have to depend on _his_ powers and _his_ flawed calculations to get them back home, everything would turn out alright for once.

And now they don't exist. Not really.

Not in this timeline, at least. 

No more Umbrella Academy.

And worst of all, their dad is alive and well and still just as much of an asshole if the way he (in no uncertain terms) told them to-and this is Five simply paraphrasing here-"fuck off", chasing the siblings out of what had once been their home.

For all of the shit they've gone through in the last twenty four hours alone, the Hargreeves are taking it all in surprising stride.

Allison manages to rumor them into a free motel room; it's certainly not the ritz, but it's low key and in a shady enough part of town that no one really questions the lot of them in their various states of disarray as a group, when they make their way to said motel.

Klaus makes easy friends with some locals, as he's prone to doing and ends up charming an employee at the Goodwill place a few blocks down from where they're staying, into letting him "borrow" a few items of clothing for everyone to change into.

"Green really _is_ my color." Diego preens in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom after trying on a fitted tee shirt and a pair of dark jeans.

Allison rolls her eyes at him from the bed she's sharing with Vanya. "Just marry yourself already." she teases.

"Maybe I will." he sniffs. He looks damn good in these thrift store clothes. Klaus truly does have an eye for these types of things.

Luther folds his arms over his massive chest and huffs. "Will you quit hogging the bathroom already? The rest of us would like to change out of our dirty clothes, too."

For once, Five agrees with his big lug of a brother. He's covered in sweat and grime, baby powder, dried blood and god knows what else. He'd like to shower and get into something that chafes a little less, thank you very much.

Diego grumbles something under his breath but does relent, letting everyone else take their turn to shower and get dressed.

Five is the last to get inside the bathroom and when he finally does, he can't lock the door fast enough. He wants to burn the stupid uniform, now tattered and quite frankly, disgusting, but settles for leaving it in the pile of discarded clothes the rest of his siblings tossed aside in the corner of the bathroom on the floor.

He can't help but stare at his body-though it's not exactly his, not really-in the mirror as he passes it. He's too thin. Five can see his ribs, can feel them as he traces his chest with one hand. That's always been a problem, though; his weight that is.

Or lack thereof.

The truly concerning issue is the smattering of ugly bruises all over his torso, his stomach, his legs, his back, his spindly little arms and his shoulders. The fact that-and fuck, how had he forgotten about this one?-the shrapnel wound on his side hasn't had time to heal properly and the stitches have long since been torn out. Was it when during his encounter with the Swedes? Or the one with Lila? Who can tell anymore. 

He's bleeding again, though it's a lazy enough flow this time that he can choose to ignore it without worrying he might pass out like last time. 

Five digs through the bathroom cabinets for something, cheering internally when he manages to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He pours it directly onto the open wound and bites his lip to stop from letting out any noises of discomfort. It burns, but he's had worse. This is better than risking an infection.

The water, as he bathes, turns a sickly pink in the tub, swirling into the drain beneath his toes.

Five dries himself with a scratchy old motel towel and wonders vaguely when the last time the ratty thing had been washed was, but quickly shakes the unpleasant thought out of his head. For his own sake.

Klaus got him a pair of gray sweatpants, a white, short sleeved t-shirt, and a slightly too large red hoodie. The outfit isn't exactly something he would have chosen for himself, as someone who's gotten used to wearing suits in the last few years, working for the Commission, but the hoodie is warm enough that he can't find it in himself to complain (too much).

When he exits the bathroom, a hazy steam billowing out behind him, he notes that they've somehow managed to acquire an admittedly alarming amount of pizza and though he's tempted to ask where and how they got them, Five decides he's far too exhausted to bother with the answer.

"Oh Jesus Five," Allison blurts out, when she looks in his direction, mid-pizza bite. "You look ten." She knows he's not, she knows he's fifty eight goddamn years old, as her older brother is so very fond of reminding them all, time and again. But in that outfit, without the white dress shirt, the vest and that tie, with his hair all mussed and still wet from his shower, Five looks younger than even the body he's currently residing. 

And it makes her heart ache a little for a moment.

Five flips her the bird and the moment is gone.

They gather around and eat, some more fervently than others, and for once it's not Luther who pipes up with the leader shtick of 'we need to talk about what's next'.

Instead it's Vanya who swallows her last bite of crust and leans back against the headboard behind her. "Where do we go from here?"

And it shouldn't really be a big shocker or anything, the way everyone kind of automatically swivel their heads to look at Five for answers, but they're shit out of luck if they think he has any. 

He shrugs, suppressing a wince. Everything hurts. "I don't know." he says, not looking up from the half eaten slice on the greasy paper plate on his lap. He's all tapped out. He's got nothing left.

It's the wrong thing to say. Instantly they all start talking over one another, _loudly_.

There are mentions of Claire and the briefcase, of Reginald and the Sparrow Academy, of more time traveling and the timeline-

Five wants to blink out of existence, or at least out of this motel room, but he's just so tired, he couldn't if he tried. The louder they become the more painful the throbbing in his skull gets. He puts his head in his hands and squeezes his eyes shut to alleviate some of the pain but it doesn't do much.

"Uh, hey, short stack, what's a matter?" Klaus leans down to try and get a better gander at Five, who he'd noticed earlier had gone far too quiet for anyone's liking.

The others take heed now and the conversation (if one could call it that) peters out into silence, aside from the steady noise of the shitty old box TV playing some kind of infomercial in the background.

"S'just a migraine." he mutters, expression strained and refusing to look up from the palms of his hands. If he looks up the light will only make it worse. Five sighs, "I'll figure out a way to correct the timeline, I just need...time."

Time. 

As if he hadn't had enough time. Decades, in fucking fact. To prevent the apocalypse. To save his family. And he hadn't really managed that. Not the first time at least. And just barely the second time around.

His migraine spikes and it feels like someone's stabbing him in the eye repeatedly. He sucks in a breathe and curls further into himself.

"I'm going to the front desk to see if they have any painkillers," Allison (blessedly) whispers into the room. She nods her head to Luther, who's always eager to do something, anything, to help, and tells him to get some ice from the ice machine outside and some extra hand towels from a maid cart nearby.

"You'd probably feel more comfortable on a bed, old man." Diego suggests quietly.

Five agrees, but when he gets up to go lie down his knees betray the rest of his body, buckling under him and he drops before he’s even halfway standing. Diego catches him just a second before he can hit the floor. “Whoa, hey, ok, maybe let’s not try that again.” 

Five is too weak and too bone tired to tell him to fuck off. He can’t exactly say with a straight face that he doesn’t need any help when his brother is holding up literally ninety nine percent of his weight at the moment. “Just...” he motions vaguely towards the bed. 

Diego pastes on a shit eating grin in order to hide any concern he may or may not be feeling. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right? Was that _you_ asking _me_ for help? Shit, maybe the world really is coming to an end.” Despite his mocking, Diego is quick to half-carry the old timer over to the bed, lifting him up without another word. 

The mattress isn’t anything to write home about and the sheets even less so, but the way Five is currently feeling he might as well be laying on a cloud. He huffs out a breath and wraps an arm close around his stomach. That Swedish bastard had really done a number on him back at the gala. 

Allison returns first, she sits down on the side of the bed and hands him a couple of pills. “Here, take these. I’ll give you more in a few hours if that doesn’t help.” 

He dry swallows the pills, ignoring the bottle of water in her other hand. “Thanks.” he murmurs into the pillow. 

Luther walks in a few moments later with ice and more hand towels than they probably need. Allison takes one and wraps it around a handful of ice cubes. She places it gently on top of Five’s forehead and he breathes out a sigh of relief. The cold feels good and though it doesn’t stop the drum line in his skull it eases the pain just a bit. 

His eyelids are heavy and they droop close several times before Five lets himself give in to the exhaustion. 

Allison stares at the sleeping boy-who’s not _really_ a boy, but she can’t look at him and not see a mere boy. “He looks so tired.” she remarks, a little sadly. 

“We all are.” Luther shrugs, though he can’t help but think she’s right. Five is so small. It’s stupid how small he is. So much snark and wit and anger and...despair, in such a tiny package. “But yeah,” he rectifies, when she gives him a look. “He does.” 

Diego whistles, low. “He couldn’t even walk the two feet from the rug to the bed. I know we’ve all been through a lot-” 

“Understatement.” Klaus pipes in.

Diego plows on, as if uninterrupted. “But Five literally went from one apocalypse to the next without a break. I’m surprised he managed to keep it together for this long.” he admits. 

Vanya blinks, perplexed. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

Diego realizes belatedly that the Hargreeves are shit at communicating with one another, so of course no one else had realized. “Five got spit out straight into a war zone and managed to go back with Hazel’s help. Then he went looking for us and well, here we are.” 

Klaus sighs forlornly. “Makes sense when you think about it. If Five had been dropped off any earlier do you really think it would’ve taken him more than like three days to find us all? He’s like a blood hound or something. It’s freaky.” 

Vanya nods, tilting her head when she hears the odd rasp in her brothers breathing as his chest dips and rises in his sleep. “Is that normal?” she grimaces, leaning over to listen more closely. 

“Well, one of those Swedes kicked his ass at the gala, so...” Diego says, just as Luther mentions the pile of literal bricks that fell atop his small frame not all too long ago. 

Vanya’s eyes go wide. “Shit. He might have a broken rib. He was holding himself kind of weird earlier. That, coupled with the weird breathing...” her frown deepens, if possible. “I know he’s older than everyone in this room and all but seeing him like this, I don’t know, it makes me feel like a mom who left her kid home alone or something.” she can’t help but think of Harlan and about how ardently she misses him and Sissy. 

“I second that.” Allison purses her lips. “He’s just so _small_.” 

Five lets out a stuttered breathy cough and his face scrunches up in what can only be described as pain. “Mm.” he whines low in the back of his throat and fists the sheets under his hand, knuckles white with the strain of it. “Go back.” he mutters in his restless sleep. “Please...” he lets out another stuttered breath and chokes on his next words. “Wanna go back...want my family, please, I’m sorry...I’m sorry.” tears roll down his cheeks, staining the pillow beneath his head. And suddenly he’s awake, breathing in hard gulps of air, chest heaving frantically, eyes darting around the room like he’s been trapped in a hunters snare. 

“It’s ok, everything’s ok, we’re right here Five.” Vanya reassures him, or at least, she tries to. 

Five comes to himself, realizes where he is and worst of all, realizes he’s surrounded on all sides by his siblings. Without thinking twice he blinks out of the motel room, ignoring the cacophony of complaints that follow. 

He ends up right outside of the door and stumbles the rest of the way down the hall and to the rusty railing, using it to lean his body against. He’s not entirely surprised by the sound of footsteps behind him not one minute later. 

He is surprised, however, when Vanya takes a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and raises one to her lips, instead of talking she lights up and takes a long puff. 

Five raises a brow. “Those things kill.” 

She shrugs. “What doesn’t.” she takes another puff and offers him a drag. 

He takes it without another word. He’s used to cigars but this will do. 

They don’t speak again until they finish the cancer stick, and even then Vanya lights up a second one and they stand beside one another smoking until it’s about half way done with. “I’m sorry about what I said back in ‘63.” she looks down at her socked feet. She probably should’ve put on some shoes. 

Five spares her a glance. “It’s fine.” She was right after all. It is his fault they ended up stuck in the past and fuck it all if it’s not his fault their current timeline is such a mess. 

He’s not expecting the rough shoulder shove, not from timid little Vanya, but he probably should have. He looks at her, surprise clear in his expression. 

“It’s not fine you self deprecating gremlin.” she insists, eyebrows furrowed low.

Five mouths the word ‘gremlin’ to himself, just a tiny bit offended. 

“You’ve been trying _so hard_.” 

Five swallows the lump in his throat and refocuses his gaze on the setting sun just beyond the horizon. 

Vanya bumps their shoulders together, gently this time, and leans against him, warm and soft and-Five fights the urge to flinch away from the contact. It’s been so _long_. 

“Thank you.” it slips out of her mouth casually enough that Five thinks it shouldn’t hurt quite so much when she says those two words out loud to him. To _him_. Of all fucking people. “Five? Hey, it’s going to be ok. We’ll try again. Get it right this time.” 

He wonders why she’s talking like that, in that tone, the kind you hear adults direct at very small children when just about everything has gone to shit, and then she reaches out, her fingers brush against his cheeks, and this time he can’t help it. He does flinch away, heart thundering in his chest, his flight or fight instincts warring against each other and Vanya pulls her hand back fast, like the tips of her fingers have been burnt to little crisps. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes immediately. “You were...you were crying.” 

Five brings his own hand up to his face and realizes she’s right. “Oh.” his voice cracks and he’s forced to look away and clear his throat. The sun is only just peaking past a short building against the skyline now. It’s almost gone. 

“It’s getting cold.” 

Five nods, wipes the rest of the tears away on the sleeve of his hoodie and rakes his fingers through his hair. “You go inside. I’ll be right there.” 

Vanya hesitates, stares at him like she’s looking at someone else entirely for a second, but eventually she simply nods and makes her way back into their motel room. 

It’s not until the sun is gone completely and the moon is high up in the sky and the wind has gone from cool to nippy that Five finally drags his feet back inside. Vanya, Klaus and Allison are fast asleep on their shared King, the television still playing in a low volume, but the light turned off. 

Luther and Diego are on the other King, watching whatever weird reality show is on, and they look as exhausted as he feels, so Five is pretty sure they’re only staying up to make sure he comes back in one piece. It makes his chest ache. 

They quickly make room for him on the bed when Five closes the door behind him. He waves them off. “I’ll take the floor.” he says. The floor is carpeted and fairly soft, and for decades his only bed consisted of rubble, so it’s not as though he’s picky or anything. 

Diego scoffs. “Get your bony ass over here asshole, you weigh eighty pounds soaking wet, even with the Andre the gentle giant over here there’s plenty of space.” 

Five makes a face. He’s not that skinny. Except that he is. He’s not sure what makes him ultimately give in, but he does, slowly meandering over to the bed. “Move over more.” he grouches. 

Luther whines. “But I’m gonna fall off.”

“Not my problem.” Five lays down on the other side of the bed so that Diego is squished in the middle. Five’s surprised at the lack of complaining on Diego’s part. He lies on his side, back to his brothers and curls in on himself. He goes stiff as a board when Diego rolls over and throws his leg over him, tangling their limbs together, a firm weight against his back. 

“What are you doing?” he grinds out. 

“Sleeping.” Diego mumbles, his breath hot on the back of his neck. 

They used to do this sometimes, as kids, in the middle of the night, after a particularly brutal day. Diego especially. He would stumble around the giant manor, sobbing quietly, his cries echoing the halls, and when he couldn’t find mom, he would go into Five’s room and slip into his bed under the covers, trembling and crying until Five told him to shut up and let him sleep. He’d wrap his arms around Diego and pull him up against his chest and eventually he’d calm down enough to pass out. 

Five had always wanted to ask why him. Why not Luther, who was so much bigger and stronger. Or Allison or Ben, both of whom had always had a little more compassion than he could hope to have. Or even Klaus or Vanya. Any one was better than him. But Diego was always gone by the light of day. 

Five fidgets. “Get off.” 

Diego shakes his head. “Shut up and let me sleep.”

Five fights back a grin. 

What an ass. 

“G’night.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for the reading! :) 
> 
> originally posted on: 
> 
> h t t p s://mynumberfivethings. tumblr. com/


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